Something my Granny always used to say: "Make sure you're always wearing good underwear. You never know when you're going to be in a car accident."

I'm not sure why it always needed to be a car accident in her analogy but I should have listened to that sage advice. Last Friday, I spent the afternoon in the Emergency Room, but thankfully not because of a car accident. However, I was also not heeding Granny's words of wisdom.

It all started like chaos usually always starts for me: Normal day. Minding my own business. Feeling good. Loving life. All seeming right in the world and then BAM!!!!

Someone hauled off and kicked me in the stomach. Hard. Like steel-toed boot hard.

Except no one was near me and I was in the grocery store. I instantly doubled over in the produce section, almost dropping my apples. The initial feeling of being kicked had now spread throughout my whole abdomen and it felt like someone had reached inside my stomach and was squeezing every single organ. Bones, too. I was quite sure things were imploding in there.

Now the nausea feeling was setting in and I could feel myself becoming instantly drenched in sweat. I wanted to lay down on the floor but I tried to act like my insides weren't in a death grip. An episode of Chicago Med flashed in my mind and Dr. Choi was there coaching me on some deep breathing. Great, now I was hallucinating and interacting with fictional TV characters.

I must have looked in pretty rough shape (or maybe I was moaning out loud although I'd like to hope not) because an employee came over to steady me.

"Honey, are you ok? I think we need to call you an ambulance," she said as she took the bag of apples from me and started helping me toward the front of the store.

My appendix. It had to have just ruptured.

That just ticked me right off. All I wanted to do was buy my produce, go home, and prepare for a night of snuggling cats and watching Dateline. These were exactly the thoughts that were happening in my head as fire raged through my stomach.

My internal thoughts were interrupted by more staff offering Gatorade and making the call to medics. I stopped them just in time and assured them that I was okay (LIE!) and that I was feeling perfectly fine to drive myself to the hospital (LIE!) and that I would drive there on my own. That last part actually wasn't a lie. I really needed to go.

In hindsight, I should have let them call me a ride in the ambo. I do not even remember the drive home (which I know was not safe at all). I should have driven straight to the hospital but in my mind there were a few things I needed to do before my upcoming appendix removal: I needed to get these sweaty pants off so they didn't think I peed myself and change into something drier. I needed to leave out some extra food and water for the cats. I needed to grab my book and my phone charger because who knew how long I'd be there. You know, priorities.

None of that happened. I could barely get out of my car. I called a friend and she immediately came over and got me to the ER.

I was whisked into a room, stripped down to my undies, and garbed in a classic hospital gown. IVs were started, blood was drawn, pain meds were pumping, tests were being run, and I was wheeled in for a cat-scan.

In my pain-filled delirium, my Granny's words came back to haunt me. I was not wearing good underwear. They were bad. Like, really bad. The kind of bad that you know you should toss out but you save them for when you need to do a load of laundry but you have this one last resort pair, so really why bother with washing clothes just yet? You know the pair I'm speaking of. Not a stitch of elastic left to even hold them onto your body. Embarrassing.

That poor nurse helping me from my bed onto the CT scan tray got the raw end of that deal. I could feel how far down those worn out undies and crept but by that point it was too late. Total butt crack. All I could say was, "Sorry about my underwear. I wasn't planning on anyone seeing them today."

She just laughed and told me to lay still and listen for the automated voice to tell me how to breathe.

"Breathe in. Hold it..." I could hear the machine and was following along but all I could think about was throwing these ratty old undies right in the garbage can as soon as I was well enough to go home again.

Just like that it was over and I was being helped back onto my gurney, full crack on display for the second time. I tried to reach around to save myself some added embarrassment, then I just gave up. It was too late anyway.

The good news: It turns out I get to keep my appendix (for now). The bad news: I get to come back for another surgery in a few weeks. Apparently when you hit the old age of 33, you just start losing organs left and right. First my gallbladder checked out last year. Now my intestines were trying to escape through the same exit from that previous incision. They didn't make it and got caught and twisted (which explains the steel-toed kick to my bellybutton). I'm telling you, if I didn't have bad luck I probably wouldn't have any. But for now, the doc pressed things back into their proper place.

So when I returned home about 6 hours later, I did toss my bad bottoms. Granny would be proud. Each morning since, I've been very careful in selecting a good pair before I head out the door.

As usual, she was right- you just never know when you're going to be in a car accident or bust your guts next to the Honeycrisps, so always wear good underwear.

Copyright 2018 Laura McKenna. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without express written consent.

"I don't read." Hearing someone say those three little words are like a dagger to my heart.

Maybe it's because I was raised by a librarian. Maybe it's because I belong to a book club that meets once a month and talks a little about the book we all read and a lot about what's happening in our own lives. Maybe it's because I write these short little stories and hope that at least someone will get some enjoyment by actually reading them. Or maybe it's because I genuinely think reading a book is one of the most entertaining things you can do in your spare time.

One of my fellow book-clubbers just said something funny during our last monthly meeting of the minds. She said, "My life is pretty boring. So I just pick up a book and get to live a totally different life." We all laughed, of course. But it's true. That's what books do!

Another book-clubber said, "I think I've learned so much, even though what we read is just fiction."

I agree. I think you gain experiences that you may never have on your own. We've read a book about a girl on death row. I really hope to never have that actual experience, but it was interesting and thought-provoking. I read another book about a family suffering with Alzheimer's disease. While I've never personally experienced what it's like to live with that illness, it gave me a greater understanding and empathy.

Books have a way of teaching us life lessons and real life skills. Books allow us to travel to places we never actually set foot in. We get a glimpse into different cultures, different neighborhoods, different walks of life. And I love that. As much as I like to actually interact with real people, I really love to snuggle into my jammies, curl up with my kitties, and interact with make-believe people living out their lives on the pages of a book.

I've cried real tears while reading a book. I've laughed really hard at other times. I've had long, deep discussions with other real people about a fictional situation that we all could be faced with. I wouldn't necessarily characterize my own real life as boring, but I've lived a lot of other lives through the pages of a book that are way crazier than my own. I've closed a book after reading the last chapter and thought to myself, "I'm really going to miss these people. I hope this turns into a series."

I mainly read murder mysteries, cop dramas, and courtroom thrillers. I've been asked many times for a book recommendation from someone who is looking to get back into reading or start reading for the first time. The absolute worst question to ask a book lover is: "What's your favorite book? I want to read it."

That's like asking a parent to pick their favorite kid. You just can't. They are all so different and you love them for different reasons.

But that all changed for me last summer. If I can recommend a book to you, it's this one:

"The Life List" by Lori Nelson Spielman

It's not my typical favorite murder mystery. It's not really a love story. It's a life story. The author isn't paying me to tell you this, but I think your life will sincerely be missing something if you don't read it. It happened to cross my path by chance (or maybe by fate). I read it, then my mom read it, and I even suggested it to my boyfriend (who at the time hadn't picked up a book in ages) and he couldn't put it down. We all loved it. I really think you will, too.

So if you're one of those people who say "I'm not a reader," I really would urge you to try. And if you believe in fate (and I really do), maybe you'd like a book to cross your path by chance, too. Sound exciting? Just fill out the form below and you'll get a few surprise books in your mailbox. You'll also get to send a random stranger a book of your choice and maybe change or enhance their life in the process.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a few chapters to read.

Copyright 2016 Laura McKenna. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without express written consent.

I am actually amazed at the amount of readers and listeners that wrote to me and called into the show asking, "What's the toilet paper story?" I mentioned in 'Becoming an Adult at 32' that for the first time in my life, just this year, I bought my first roll of toilet paper.

I know, I know. That does seem odd, right? Believe me, I'm well aware. But trust me when I say, if my mom had her way, toilet paper would be the trendy new housewarming gift. The top selling Christmas gift? Wedding showers? Sure, buy 'em toilet paper!

See, it all started when I moved to Wisconsin for my first job in radio. I literally got the job offer out of the blue on a Tuesday. I asked when they wanted me to start and they answered, "Monday." And I went.

I literally packed up a single suitcase and a few duffel bags full of shoes and make-up and made the road trip from Ohio to Wisconsin. I had nowhere to live - at least permanently - at that moment. So while I hunted for an apartment in the quaint little town of Sparta, I stayed at the Country Inn & Suites. They had plenty of toilet paper there.

It wasn't until my family made the huge trek with all my crap (and let's be clear in saying I had - and still have - a TON OF CRAP) a few months later, that the tradition began.

While we were hauling box after box of all the things a 22 year old gal can accumulate in that short span of hoarding, I noticed a large pack of toilet paper amongst my junk. "That's to get you started, I guess. Your mom had me put it in the truck," my dad said with a shrug and went right on lugging furniture.

A few months later, my family came to visit again. This time, it was Thanksgiving 2005. And again, I noticed another package of toilet paper was unpacked. We're not talking about a small little 4-roll pack, though. This package was pretty close to the size of a Sam's Club pallet of toilet paper. (See the above photo.) What could one little apartment need that much toilet paper for at one time?

Seriously! So I asked. "What's with all this toilet paper?"

To which my mom answered, without missing a beat, "Well, you know. We're all here. And we'll be using a lot."

Honestly, unless I literally invited the whole town over for dinner and salmonella was on the menu, there's no way we were even going to put a dent in that massive stash she brought.

But I set it aside. In cupboards. In closets. Under the bed. I literally had to keep breaking down the huge package and shoving rolls wherever I could. There was THAT MUCH TOILET PAPER.

And thus, the tradition was born. Each time my mom visits, she brings toilet paper. A TON of toilet paper. I don't know if there's some deep seeded issue she may have been faced with in her youth that makes her want to make certain that no bum is left behind. But it's so weird that it strangely just became the norm.

It's now a running joke on our show that when Mom and Dad are en route to visit, we make a call to them so my co-host can ask, "Hey Linda, did you remember the toilet paper?"

For 10 years now, she comes equipped. Some people may show up on your doorstep with a bottle of wine for your holiday gathering, but not my mom. It's good 'ol TP. I've never asked if she does this at dinner parties with her friends, but I really wouldn't be surprised.

But then, this spring, it happened. I reached under the sink and grabbed the last roll. WHAT?!?!??! HOW CAN I BE OUT OF TOILET PAPER?

Actually, the better question: HOW CAN I BE OUT OF TOILET PAPER when Mom doesn't have a trip to Wisconsin planned until July?!?!?!

After calming down (and making a quick phone call to Mom jokingly telling her that I needed an emergency visit) I decided to run to the store. She said she wasn't coming to visit before her next planned trip, so it was pretty much my only option. And really, how hard can buying toilet paper for yourself actually be? I am a grown adult, after all. Piece of cake.

There was no time for hashing all that out in my mind. I was overwhelmed. There are a sh**load (no pun intended) of options. That seems a bit much to me. Is there really a need for an entire wall of toilet paper? Can one brand of toilet paper really be that much better than the rest? And how do you start to figure up which is the best bang for your butt? Buck. Butt. Same thing.

I couldn't do it. Forget that level of decision-making. To the toilet paper purchaser in your household, kudos to you, my friend. I can't do it. It's just not right. There is no reason that there should be clouds, angels, babies, dogs, and forest creatures all staring back at you from their respective packages while you're trying to make this very crucial choice. It's intimidating.

So I did what any normal person would do. I left the store and took a roll home from work the next day. I needed time to think this thing over. In the privacy of my own bathroom. In peace.

You know that's where the best thinking occurs.

I also asked our wonderful STAR 98 listeners for their help. I tried asking my mother but she said she just bought whatever package was the biggest. Shocking!! And it seems like there really is no right answer. Everyone has a different favorite.

So as Christmas draws near and you're struggling for the perfect gift for your loved ones, just do like my family and pick up some toilet paper. If you're worried about what kind, just ask the cashier for a gift receipt. That's not weird or anything.

Because nothing says "I love you" like a big stash of T.P.

Copyright 2015 Laura McKenna. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without express written consent.﻿

When you hear someone talk about "girl power" or "a strong woman", it often carries a negative connotation. Girl Power equates to man bashing. Being strong must mean that you are also difficult to get along with. A real ball-busting, man hating, woman with a chip on her shoulder who must have something to prove.

And that is unfortunate. Because it's not.

Now don't get me wrong. If any of the men in my life are in need of a good verbal bashing, they know I am fully equipped and ready to give it to them. But I would also expect the same in return. Everyone needs reeled back in and called on their "crazy" now and then.

I think as females, however, we really should stand up for and cheer on our fellow gals. And I'm not sure that it is done enough. In fact, I think it's something quite special when a lady can express genuine happiness at another female's achievements. It's so easy to get caught up in the competition of life and career and whatnot. But as females, when one of us succeeds, I really think we all do.

I'm lucky in my life that I have had a lot of strong, confident ladies that have set a good example of the kind of woman I want to be. My grandmother passed away in 2009, but I had many years to learn from her. She was a feisty woman who would go to battle for you. By god, she'd win, too. Come hell or high water. Then she'd come home and make the best darn wedding soup I've ever tasted. Sometimes on our show I find myself thinking, "That sounds like something Gran would have said." And while I hope I have just a little more filter, I think she would be proud of her granddaughter if she could tune in for just one more day.

My mother, although she'd never want the accolades, has taught me so many great lessons on how to be a lady. She taught me that the right shade of lipstick will keep you from "looking dead". And I have to agree. Everyone knows I never am without a tube because as Mom also says, "You never know who you're going to meet." (And you certainly wouldn't want them to think you're dead, after all.)

Beyond the lipstick lessons, she taught me compassion and fairness. I remember one election, way back in school, that I wanted to win so badly. Yet, I lost out to a friend of mine. I got off the bus, wiping away tears and my Mom said, "But just think how happy she is today. If you had won, she might be crying. You can't be the best at everything, but you can always cheer on your friends." I never realized how wise of a woman she was until many years later.

But she also wasn't a push-over (even with her impeccable make-up). And she wasn't raising one, either. Another Momism that I vividly remember to this day: "I better never hear that you started a fight with someone. But if someone starts one with you, ya better finish it. Just ball up your fist and punch them as hard as you can, right square in the nose."

I can honestly say I never did get the opportunity to throw a punch to anyone's nostrils, which I'm fairly certain is a good thing. But in first grade, I did kick my neighbor in the face when he tried to look up my skirt. (Sorry Nathan. But in all reality, had my hand been closer to you than my foot, you probably would have been my first.)

But being a strong woman isn't about beating up bullies on the playgrounds of life. It's about knowing who you are and not being afraid to get what you want out of life. It's about thanking the people who have helped you achieve those things. And helping others get there, too.

Along the way I have been extremely fortunate to be surrounded by such kind, caring, confident, and strong women. Relatives, friends, and co-workers have all influenced my life in one way or another and I hope to have done the same for you. Even those of you that I've technically never met.

I met a fan last summer. She came up to me at an event and said that she and her daughter listen to our show every morning. She told me that her daughter was 12. She wasn't with her at the time or I am sure her daughter would have been thoroughly embarrassed when I offered to sign some t-shirts for them. A few days later, I received a note in the mail at the studio.

I've never forgotten what it said. She wrote:

"Laura- Thank you for the shirts for me and my daughter. She completely flipped when I brought it home and told her I met you. This probably sounds really weird but you are a role model to her. Thank you for being who you are. The world is not an easy place for us women to live in and I think it's refreshing to listen to someone like you. Being in the public eye is probably hard, I'm sure. The world is hard on women. Thank you for always being real and unapologetic about who you are. Flaws and all. And thanks for setting a good example for my daughter."

I'm honored. That's a pretty big responsibility. And it's one I don't take lightly. That thank-you card hangs on my refrigerator to this day.

I have nieces, younger cousins, and daughters of friends that look up to me. And this little girl whom I may never meet (but I hope still thinks I'm cool enough to wear an autographed t-shirt). So if I can pass these things along to them:

Be kind. Be supportive. Be generous with your time to those that deserve it. Be firm in what you believe in. Work hard. Try things. And fail at them. I've failed at a lot of things. But that's how you figure out what you're good at. Be proud once you find those few things that you can do really well. But never so proud that you look down at those who can't. Never let jealousy be a reason you want something. Want things because you want to be a better person and because you want to be happy. Push yourself. And most importantly, get behind people and push. Because a helping hand makes all of us a lot stronger.

﻿THE STAR 98's LADIES ONLY SHOWaired on April 10, 2015 on Star 98. With Steve Davis on vacation, Laura McKenna opened up the co-hosting seat to many different female guests throughout the morning. Below are the wonderful gals who made the cut to spread a little more Girl Power on the radio that morning with Laura.﻿

Stephanie brought the tiny little Diaper Derby trophy into the studio to debut on the show. Laura emceed the event the next day at Bay Park Square Mall in Green Bay.

It's official. We're 13 days into 2015. Thirteen days of trying to stick to our New Year's resolutions. And that's tough.

In fact, most resolutions are always tough. We design them that way. We pick the hardest possible thing we can usually think of and promise ourselves that we will finally DO THIS!

We guarantee ourselves that this is going to be the year that we finally get back in the size that we want to fit into. You remember- that size that at the time you thought was huge (and now you'd give just about anything to finally zip back up). We promise ourselves that we will finally kick the nicotine habit (which I have never had to try to quit but I imagine it's not easy). We tell ourselves that we'll spend less money and more time on this and that and the other thing....

It's exhausting to think about, let alone to actually follow through and do.

So while I know we're a little late in the resolution-making timeline here, can I make a suggestion? Instead of setting ourselves up to try and overcome these huge obstacles that we may fail at year after year after year....let's change this up for 2015.

For your health, you can (and should) stick to eating better and smoking less (but I know you don't need me harping on you about that). But what about for your mind? More specifically: your peace of mind.

I think we all get so caught up in one thing or another in life that we sometimes forget to just take the time and do something for ourselves. Something that makes us feel good. Something that may challenge us or enlighten us or stimulate us or relax us. Something that allows us to totally immerse ourselves in an experience completely foreign to us but still exciting. Something new.

I guess I got my jump start on this Do Something New For Me resolution without even planning it. I came across this great little place called Palette and Pub in December that offered a painting class which caught my eye.

Let me back things up by telling you that my skillset is minimal. I can decorate cakes with the best of them. But as far as singing, drawing, sculpting, paint-by-numbers, remembering things I need to remember, driving a stick shift, packing a suitcase on time that doesn't weigh eight bazillion pounds? Yeah, I pretty much suck at all those.

But I saw this painting class and I thought, "You know what? I'm going to do that. I am probably going to be terrible at it. I'll probably never be able to even hang my picture on the wall. But I am taking a 'Me' day and I'm going to try it. What's the worst that can happen? I may hate it. So what? I won't know unless I try. And it might be a disaster."

And what I would usually do at this point in time is keep putting it off and putting it off until the class came and went, totally missing it altogether. But I didn't. My December was booked solid, but I immediately paid for the class and wrote it in my daily planner. That way I knew I couldn't change my mind. I wrote it in pen (and you know that's serious). And I geared up to paint.

There it was: my blank canvas.

And there it is: My finished product. My first painting. And I was proud of it. I really thought that it would turn out terrible, but I'm not embarrassed at all to show you. Either their instructors are magical or maybe deep down I may have a teeny little bit of painter in me. Maybe a little of both.

And there I am with Carrie, the owner of Palette and Pub. She's holding another painting that I'd love to try.

I left the class that day with some new décor and a sense of accomplishment. I had done something new. I had done something for me that I wanted to do. And it felt so good.

I loved it so much, in fact, that I even went out and bought some supplies and made another painting for a gift.

So what I'm saying here is that 2015 can be a great year for you. And your idea of great may be finally taking time to relax with a good book that you've had for years but never made the time to open. Maybe it's taking a ballroom dancing class because you've always wanted to waltz. Maybe it's attending a yoga class (and not because you're obsessed with your resolution to slim down but because you want to do it for your mind, body, and spirit). I know, I sound like a hippie, huh?

I just know that life is so hectic and stressful at times. I don't want another year to go by where you forget about you. So give something new a try for you. Don't be scared and don't put it off. Because you just never know what could happen. Sometimes all you need is a fresh coat of paint.....

Want to join me at Palette and Pub for an exclusive painting night to create this masterpiece? I'm hosting this fantastic evening full of prizes, plenty of liquid inspiration, and lots of fun. Just click the picture to sign up for the class. You'll be so glad that you did.

Copyright 2015 Laura McKenna. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without express written consent.

It's New Year's Day. To be drunk on a plane is probably not unheard of. To be drunk and typing while on a plane could be very interesting. Good thing I'm not. Drunk, that is.

At least, not yet.﻿But I am typing. And I am on a plane. Meanwhile, the country song "Drunk on a Plane" by Dierks Bentley has been playing in my mind since I flew home to Ohio earlier in December for Christmas vacation. I'm now flying back to Wisconsin and I'm still singing it over and over and over. It's a catchy tune and I can see how the scenario would play out.

Basically: ﻿﻿Girl breaks off wedding with guy. Guy already has honeymoon booked. So guy flies solo (literally) and tries to drink away his troubles. Guy ends up buying rounds of drinks for everyone onboard. By the time the plane lands, he's tanked and more than likely has made 26 rows of new friends.﻿﻿

Except here's me. Me with my non-alcoholic iced coffee in hand and all I really need is a layover to achieve the same effect.

Ok, maybe not 26 rows of new friends. But at least a few newbies. And I love that. It's my favorite part of flying.

My co-host teases me all the time saying, "Normal people DO NOT love layovers. And normal people don't seek out new friendships when they travel by airplane. And normal people certainly don't strike up life changing conversations every time they fly among perfect strangers."

While that may be true, I think we can all agree that I'm far from normal. But if this became the new norm, those friendly skies could become their own social network.

See, I don't actually seek out friendships, so to speak. But in my 3-4 trips per year, I do tend to accrue some new BFF's along the way. Sometimes at the gate, sometimes in an airport café, and with the real lucky ones- sometimes in the seat next to me. Except on this leg of my flight, I'm flying solo (no pun intended) which means extra leg room to sprawl out. Score!

I have a really scientific method to my acquisition of these new pals. Brace yourselves! In fact, grab a pen and paper because you may want to take notes. Ready?

It usually starts with a simple "hello". I know, this is groundbreaking stuff here. But really, a simple hello can go a long way. It can lead to pen pals, email exchanges, and some have even started to follow us on twitter. That 'us', of course, is me and my cat. You can also follow us if you like: @Mr_Fuzzybottoms I feel that if you're reading this, we're more or less friends now, too.

Now, let's get back to the plane. I'm not the only one who must send out the "Hey New Friends! Come and Get Me!" vibe. Yes, believe it or not, other people are on to this trend!

My latest new friend (let's call him 'Karl from Florida') must take the same advantage of this instant availability of new friends at the airport, too. I just met 'Karl from Florida' in Detroit when we struck up a conversation about the Ohio State football jersey I am wearing. I came to find out that 'Karl from Florida' is on his way to visit a gal-friend (quite possibly maybe to turn into a girlfriend, but we didn't get that in depth into the relationship status...yet) that he met randomly, six years prior, ON A PLANE! See, other people do it and would highly recommend striking up a long-lasting friendship.

On my last trip home, I met Bryan from San Fran. I didn't actually change his name because he gave me the ok to write about our new kinship. He was interviewing for a job in my city and he got it! By chance we were seated next to each other on the plane and now instant BFFs as well as neighbors. All it took was one flight plus one selfie together and it's like we've known each other for years.

Then a few years ago, there was 'Jill from Michigan' (slight name change again) who became my new friend after I inappropriately touched her. It's not as bad as it sounds. Well. Ok, it kind of is. But that's what friends do, right?

See, 'Jill from Michigan' was really nervous to fly and we hit some major turbulence while in the air. Like the good friend that I try to be, I reached over and put one arm around her, held her hand with my other, and talked her through it.

I normally don't touch people. At least not the very first time I meet them on a plane or otherwise, but it just happened. She started crying and like a reflex, I just reached over. I think I immediately apologized for being a weirdo and invading her space. However, when the flight finally evened out, she said that was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for her.

Whew!

She could have signaled for the Air Marshal, but instead we friended each other on facebook and have remained friends ever since.

And I could go on, but the flight attendant is here and she just said that my new friend 'Karl from Florida' (now seated in 10D) has bought me a drink back here in 14B. How sweet is that?

So maybe I will get to live out part of that country song after all. Keep 'em coming, Karl! I'm getting drunk on a plane.

Copyright 2015 Laura McKenna. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without express written consent.

I never realized that one day could stir up so much hostility in people as the dreaded Sweetest Day. Personally, I always thought the day was...well, rather sweet. But as I conducted some very scientific research (and by very scientific, I mean: not at all even remotely close to being scientific), I found that I was indeed in the minority.

I gathered my research participants like most scientists probably do: as I went about my daily routine- at gas stations, grocery stores, shopping malls, the police station (don't ask), and the post office. I figured this gave me a pretty decent cross examination of the population. And like I usually do with anyone I'm standing next to for over a minute or two, I struck up a conversation.

My lead in was pretty straight forward. After the usual hellos, I followed up with: "So, Sweetest Day is Saturday. Any plans to celebrate it?"

AT THE GROCERY STORE:Younger, well dressed mother wrangling up her children behind me in the check-out line:"Not with these two. The sweetest thing I'm hoping for is peace and quiet for two minutes."Point well taken. But she's not a complete hater of the holiday.

Man working behind the deli case: "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard of. Spend a lot of stupid money on flowers that will just die anyways. Besides, I'm nice to my woman every day. They don't get sweeter than me."Yeah, sure sounds like it. I bet all the women that let that one get away are losing a lot of sleep.

AT THE POST OFFICE:Female clerk with a very sparkly broach pinned on her lapel: "Oh honey, when you get to be my age, there's nothing sweet about it."Ok, there's something to look forward to.

AT THE POLICE STATION:Seated next to a young man in all black with more metal in his face than I have in my own jewelry box: "What?" So I rephrased the question a bit. And then he just stared at me for a few seconds before putting in his earbuds, leaning back, and closing his eyes.I just quit while I was ahead with that one.

AT THE MALL:Total opposite looking guy compared to 'metal-face at the police station dude':"God, that's Saturday? That's such a Valentine's wanna-be. Hallmark holiday. {grumbling of things I couldn't quite hear} Thanks for reminding me."Hey, anytime Sunshine.

AND AT WORK:My co-host, Steve: "We don't do Sweetest Day. That's a made up holiday."

Well, yeah. Aren't they all made up? Someone at some time had to say, "Let's designate December 25th and call it Christmas." Father's Day wasn't a holiday until someone made it one. And New Year's Day was just January 1st until someone decided to make it into something special. You get what I'm saying? All holidays were made-up. But why hate Sweetest Day so much?

Is it because people don't really understand it? Without boring you with a history lesson (because that was my least favorite of all subjects back when I was in school), let me instead just tell you a quick story.

Sweetest Day was MADE UP in the 1920s. Yup. Imagine that. Someone made up a holiday. It was made up in Cleveland, Ohio of all places. Now I'm not just a Sweetest Day fan because of it's location in origin, but as you know I love my Cleveland Browns.

The act that inspired this made-up holiday happened when a few people (a candy store employee and a couples celebrities) took candy and small tokens of sweetness to orphanages, shut-ins at local hospitals, and to public places to give to people to show that someone cared about them. That's it.

Nowhere in the Sweetest Day handbook (if there even was one) does it say anything about having to spend money to celebrate Sweetest Day. It's just about doing something kind and out of the ordinary to show someone- even a perfect stranger- that they are loved and appreciated.

It's always the 3rd Saturday in October- which is today! And I just think that until we get to a point in the world where we can all say "Ya know, everyone is just too nice. There's not enough mean people and ugly things happening in the world....", why wouldn't we want to spread a little more sweetness around?

So from me to you: Happy Sweetest Day from the bottom of my heart.

While I can't write each of you a personalized little note to say how much I appreciate you reading my literary work and listening to my show in the mornings, I do wish you a day filled with love, sweet things, and happiness. Because the world needs a lot more of that.

Copyright 2014 Laura McKenna. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without express written consent.

You'll probably want to share this one with your boss. Maybe email it to him/her. Maybe casually leave the webpage pulled up on the office computer. However you get the message across, it's vitally important that you do. Because we aren't getting nearly enough vacation time. And here's why...I've come to the conclusion that the average one week vacation, really takes about three.

Now I know sometimes my math skills are not up to snuff. But, hear me out.

One week = 7 days = (really equals) about 21 days. And sometimes more! Because in reality, one week's vacation takes up way more time than just one week.

I can honestly say this because I just took a week's vacation a few weeks ago and for the full week leading up to that vacation, I spent my days running around like a crazy lady to get things organized. I pulled almost everything out of my closet looking for a few hidden sundresses that I wanted to pack. I had piles started so that I didn't forget to actually put the stuff in the suitcase. And then I did end up forgetting something (see: Never Send A Man To Buy A Bra). I had multiple lists made for this and that. I had cat sitter schedules that I needed to finalize. I had presents for those cat sitters that I needed to buy. I had treats to purchase for my furbabies so they didn't think their mommy had abandon them. I had treats to make for us humans so the road trip didn't seem so long. I had stuff for my job that I needed to work ahead on so that someone else didn't have to pick up the slack while I was gone. And on top of all this, I didn't want to leave my house looking like a tornado went through it when I left for vacation because that same tornadic debris would be greeting me when I walked back through the door in a week's time. And who wants that?

Now mind you: All this for just one person (me) to go on one week's vacation (to Ohio). Imagine if I had an entire family to organize. Holy crap. I'd probably never want to venture anywhere!

I was seriously exhausted at that point. And I hadn't even loaded all my crap into the car.

I will say that no matter where you go on vacation, it's always nice just to get away. I had travelled to Florida back in March and while I still long for those white, sandy beaches and crystal blue water again, Ohio was definitely worth all the fuss. I thought that in my week's stay in the Buckeye State, I would have plenty of time to visit with everyone I hadn't seen in forever. I had some picnics and parties to attend, a Cleveland Indians baseball game to go to, and my birthday to celebrate. It was non-stop laughing and good times, but it was over so fast.

The week flew by! All seven days, gone! Just like that. And then I arrived home.(Ok, mathematicians- 7 days of Vacation Prep, 7 days of Actual Vacation, and now we're in the 3rd week.)

I can't get caught up. My travel bags are still in need of unpacking. My suitcase is still pretty much full. I keep taking things out of it on an "as needed" basis. As soon as I got home I took out my bathroom essentials, of course. And my dirty clothes, too. But other than that, it's all still in there.

I just can't get caught up on the after-vacation unpacking and forget about getting back in the swing of things waking up for work in the wee hours of the morning! That first week back was painful. I felt like a zombie. And it's because my sleep schedule was all out of whack because my body was telling me I was still in vacation mode and my alarm was screaming something totally different.

Which brings me back to the initial equation. One week of vacation really equals three weeks of vacation time. At least!

I'm now in my fourth week and I think I'm finally starting to get my life back in order. I'll admit, I'm not the most organized person to begin with. I like to say my life is usually "organized chaos." It's non-stop and usually all over the place, but I know where everything is (or at least where it should be). It just may not be as orderly as someone else would have it.

And I'm willing to bet most people would agree. A vacation takes up a big chunk of your time. It's a big commitment when you think about it. I was talking to my friend on the phone today and she said the same thing. She's taking a family trip and she said in a huff, "After all this, I don't even want to go on vacation. I just want to crawl in bed and sleep for a week! I'm more stressed now than I ever was before this whole escape was planned."

And this is coming from someone who is way more organized than I am. I mean, wayyyyyyyy more organized. So organized that she packs her and her daughter's suitcases with something called Packing Cubes. For real. Check this out.

She rolls each piece of clothing and puts it in a cube.

Then she labels each cube by what's inside (undies, shirts, pjs, etc.).

I wish I had her patience. And then she packs all the cubes inside her suitcase. That seems a little bit OCD to me. But then again, my OC-minus-the-D (as in: Organized Chaos) would not be able to confine itself into neatly packed cubes.

So that's her suitcase. And brace yourself because here's mine:

I know. Night and day difference!

And don't be so surprised. Doesn't everyone travel with a pink wig and a pink feather boa at all times? If they don't, they should. I would highly recommend it. It's always better to be over-packed and over-shoe'd than to not have the perfect outfit for that perfect occasion. And as you can see, I like to be prepared. Totally prepared. So prepared that you may even say, I'm pretty much like a boy scout. If boy scouts all dressed in drag.

But seriously, that's a lot of stuff to unpack and I just don't have the energy. My jumbo sized, stuffed to the gills container of all things pink and travelable will just have to wait until it's needed to actually be fully unloaded. Which will then be even more days-worth of my time.

So add it all up. One week of vacation is really about three or more weeks.

The bottom line here is that we all are not getting enough vacation days in order to actually take a vacation. Clearly.

Copyright 2014 Laura McKenna. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without express written consent.

Never send a man to buy a bra. I know, ladies. I know. This should really, really be a no-brainer. I should have known better. But I did just that. And not only did I send one man, I sent two! One of which was my dad. And as you can guess, hilarity ensued.My only excuse for sending two manly men into the great silky abyss of the women's brassiere department, alone and unsupervised, is that I didn't want to wear one in the first place.Let me explain.It was my first day back in Ohio on vacation and we had spent the entire day running from this place to that. After arriving back at home at dusk, my very male father and my very male friend decided they needed to shop a little more. And when you live in my small hometown (which doesn't even have a stoplight, let alone any bigger retail or grocery stores) and you need eggs, motor oil, tampons, or a bathing suit and you don't want to drive far, you head to the next town and hit up Walmart.So yes, I could have went along. I could have. Expect for the fact that when I arrived home, I changed out of my "able to be seen in public clothes" and into my "I look like a sloppy bum at-home-clothes" which includes no bra. And again- yes, I could have easily slipped it back on. But as you well know, ladies, when you finally let the girls loose for the evening and that uncomfortable contraption of a bra finds itself on the bathroom doorknob, your day is done. End. Of. Story. But I needed one item that I forgot to pack. And I really needed it before the next day. I really needed a strapless bra to wear under a strapless sundress for our family picnic. But here was the dilemma: I forgot all my strapless bras at home....in Wisconsin....about 10 hours away. Yeah, not good. My entire drawer of strapless bras was forgotten about in all my packing for the trip.So what's a girl to do? Send a man to buy her a bra. Actually, send two.And I honestly (and foolishly) thought this wouldn't be quite the dramatic undertaking that it became. I explained to these two deer-in-headlights dudes exactly what type of bra they would be looking for.Their mission (although they had no choice but to accept it) was to find a strapless bra: Nude in color. Size medium. With no clips, fasteners, wires, padding, or anything other than stretchy material. I told them, "Just picture a wide cloth headband. But instead of fitting your head, it needs to fit my boobs." This mission would be easy, I said. I've seen them in there before. There would be a ton of them. The tag may even say "Bandeau", just like headband. Easy! It should be a two minute stop-off in the bra department.Boy, was I wrong.After what seemed like ages, I got the first phone call from my friend. "I found one, but it's not the right one. They don't have what you're looking for," he said, clearly stressed out already.

I assured him that they had to. Then I said, "Why don't you just send me a picture?" Because the description he was giving me didn't even sound like he was in the right section of the store.But then this picture popped up on my phone.

Ok, they are making progress. They've found the correct department. But one of the bra criteria was NO PADDING. That's about the last thing I need. And that bra looked pretty stuffed to me. But sometimes pictures can be deceiving. So I said, "Is that padded?"To which he replied, in typical guy fashion, "I don't know. But it looks like a headband. Kind of. And that's the only ones they have without hookers."

Hookers? I think he meant clasps. I hope so anyway. Because two men in a bra section searching through the selection of goods and talking about hookers may make some of the other shoppers a bit uncomfortable. But ok, moving past the hookers. I still thought it looked awfully padded. So I asked this: "If I had that bra on and you grabbed my boob: Would you feel boob? Or would you feel padding?"

I know, I know...but there was no other way to put it.To which he must have turned to my dad and said, "If she had this on and we grabbed her boob: Would you feel boob or would you feel padding?"

Welcome to the twilight zone. Because my dad contemplates the answer and says, "Well, I think we'd feel padding."

I could also hear an outburst of laughing from somewhere else in the aisle. And I can only imagine what kind of spectacle they were making as they were groping the bras. I'm surprised security wasn't called.

Ok, so it was confirmed. Too much padding. But at least they knew what I was looking for. So I told him to take a picture of the entire aisle and send that to me.

And he did.

Still not the right one. But I knew they had to have more. "Why don't you just ask the sales lady?"

"We did! We asked two of them!" Clearly, they were not enjoying this search-and-destroy operation. And they were hunters. I mean, come on! That's what guys do. Hunt and gather. Maybe not bras, but there's a first time for everything, right?

"Can you just send me a picture of all the bras? They have to have the one I'm talking about. I've seen them there before."

So then a slew of pictures came in.

No.

Heavens No!

Ugh. No.

But then nothing.

Nothing for about 45 minutes. Did his phone die? Was he arrested? My mom (who was also braless and unable to leave the house) said, "Someone probably called the police on the two perverts snapping pictures and fondling the merchandise." We burst out laughing, but then started to worry. I mean, what would I wear to the picnic the next day? Oh, you thought I was concerned about their jailing? Nah.

But then I got a call: "Ok, I'm back in bras. We had to get out of there and go into the sporting goods for awhile. People were starting to look at us weird. But seriously, Laura. They don't have your headband bra."Which then lead to about 10 more pictures of the intimates aisle. And then THERE IT WAS!

And not just one Hanes Comfort Flex Fit bandeau handband style bra. It was a two-pack! 2 bras for the price of one. That's a good find! One that only took about two hours of their time, but still.So he grabbed a black/nude set and they high-tailed it out of the store.When they arrived home, they looked exhausted. They looked as if they had grown the cotton, harvested it, opened up a bra factory, and hand-crafted the bras themselves. In the amount of time it took these two fellas to actually find the bra, they could have probably done all that. But bottom line: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.My dad tossed me the bag and said, "Next time, go down in the basement and grab a roll of duct tape and use that to keep 'em in place. We're probably on American's Most Wanted now with the amount of time we spent feeling women's underwear." And then they went out into the garage to do whatever guys do in a garage for the entire night. But lesson learned. Never send a man (or two) to buy your bras. Unless you want a great story to tell afterward.

Copyright 2014 Laura McKenna. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without express written consent.

These past few days, I think I have cried more than I have in a long time. They weren't tears of sadness. In fact, I don't even know how to classify the overwhelming feeling that my life will never be the same. I have been a puddle of emotion and it's coming from some part of myself that I didn't even know existed. But I'm so glad that it was opened up for me.I am usually never at a loss for words, but I worry that I won't be able to even put into words, this moment -- or rather, this day-- that I know has truly changed my life.In order to fully tell this story, let me back things up to last month.... when it all started with an email. I received this particular email from a non-profit organization in Appleton, WI (which is about 20-30 minutes from Green Bay). This group supports individuals with developmental disabilities. For several years, their funding has decreased to now only allow them to provide food, shelter, and medical needs. The email went on to say that this organization (Agape of Appleton, Inc.) also believes it is important for folks to participate in the community and have an opportunity to live their dreams.They created a program called "Live Your Dream" in parallel to a program like "Make-A-Wish", which grants their clients an opportunity to do something they've always dreamed about. I was told that some clients dreamt of attending concerts, Green Bay Packers games, or Milwaukee Brewers games. But they had one particular client in their program that had a different dream.... and it included me.I can't begin to tell you how honored both myself and my co-host felt to learn that one client's dream-- above anything else that she could have wished for-- was to meet us. Her name is Beth and her dream, after listening every morning to our radio show, was to get to come in the studio and meet us in person. I had no idea at that moment that meeting her would change my life.When she arrived on Tuesday, it honestly felt like Beth lit up the room immediately. Her happiness was contagious and she made us feel so special. We showed Beth what all the many buttons do in the studio, how the microphones work and we took pictures with our guest of honor. I asked Beth if it would be ok to share the pictures online and she was really excited about that. She said, "I'm going to be famous."

She spent about an hour in the studio with us from 8 until 9am. She got to see us in action doing what we do on the show. Then to wrap up our show we asked her to come on the air with us. Her excitement brought the first of many tears to my eyes and what she said, completely genuine and unscripted during our few minutes on live radio, brought some more tears. You can listen to Beth's radio debut HERE. We asked her what she thought of the studio and how she liked being with us and she said, "This is the best day of my life".To hear those words from someone as innocent and honest as Beth, filled my heart with something that I've never felt before. I can't even accurately describe it. I mean, here we are, going about our jobs and putting on a show like we do every morning. And to Beth, we just made her dreams come true. Something that took such little effort, could make such a huge impact. And she wasn't even asking for much at all. We knew immediately that Beth was one special person.

After our show we took Beth on a tour of the radio station and introduced her to as many people as we could find in the building. We gave her a Star 98 coffee mug and she was elated. We took one of our radio station banners and on it, wrote her a special message to take home. And then we took her and her staff member to lunch at Mackinaws (one of our favorite restaurants in Green Bay).

I want to also say a special thanks to Mackinaws for making Beth feel extra special during our visit. After we were through with our meal, they brought out a sundae with a candle in it for her. She wasn't expecting that and began to cry. Just being able to make someone as caring and sincere as Beth feel like a queen for the day is something that will live with me forever. She printed out one of our pictures and asked us to autograph it for her. Of course, we did.

And then as we were parting ways, she gave us this card. I am a pretty sentimental person to begin with, but I will truly cherish this simple token of appreciation for the rest of my life. With just a few words and just a few hours, Beth had an extraordinary effect on me that I can't even describe. I feel like I will never be the same after meeting her.

To the students of Lawrence University in Appleton, WI: If you happen to meet Beth in your college cafeteria where she works, please be kind. I know your lives are busy and your thoughts are probably consumed by upcoming exams, term papers, and all the things you plan to do with your future. But please take a few moments out of your day to get to know this wonderful lady. Your heart will be touched immensely and she will teach you things about humanity and the joy of life that no college class could ever hope to. And to Beth: I don't know if you'll ever read this. But if you do, I want you to know something. I remember as we hugged goodbye and you said, "Thank you for letting me meet you." But Beth, thank you for letting me meet you. This may have been the best day of your life (as you told us on the show) but it was also one of the best days of mine, too. You are a beautiful person, both outside and most importantly, what you have inside. Your joy is infectious and I hope that I am half of the person that you already are. You're wise beyond belief when it comes to what's important in life- how you make others feel. I'm so glad we could make your day special. Take care and I hope to see you again. From your biggest fan,Laura McKenna

Copyright 2014 Laura McKenna. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without express written consent.